


There's a Dead Kid at My Door, and Other Short Horror Stories

by CatchWolfzie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthology, Horror, Original Fiction, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatchWolfzie/pseuds/CatchWolfzie
Summary: From psychological to paranormal, from horrible dark web purchases to circuses that appear over night, these stories are guaranteed to haunt your dreams, that is, if you can even get to sleep...





	1. There's a Dead kid at My Door

I didn’t see the dead kid that ruined my best friend’s life, and maybe that’s worse. 

“Don’t come over here,” was the last coherent thing he said to me as he sat, slumped against the wall of whichever abandoned mall we’d decided to haunt that day. “Don’t come over here.”

The police talked to both of us for a long time after that and deduced with the highest level of brilliant inquisition that my friend had seen the dead kid, and I had not. The therapist deduced the same thing.

“I’m sorry sir but what exactly is your problem?”

“My friend quit his job. He’s in an institution now.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“It could have been me.”

It wasn’t even a bad area, not really. It wasn’t night time. It wasn’t Friday the thirteenth. We were eating granola bars and taking pictures of graffiti, the sort with the man peeking over the wall and various spray painted euphemisms. But somewhere along the line a dead kid decided to hide behind an old door and grin his yellow, rotting teeth at my best friend when he opened it. Decided to expire right there in front of God and everyone except me. Decided to slink into my friend’s nightmares every night in full, wretched detail and stink and grin and ruin his life. 

Or maybe his teeth weren’t yellow. I wouldn’t know.

“The uber will bring him straight to your house, all you have to do is open the door.”

“Does he have to come this weekend? Mark and I were just exploring, he saw a dea-”

“Kyle has been looking forward to spending time with his favorite uncle. And stop with that stupid excuse, you know that was months ago.”

I guess I’m supposed to feel lucky. That’s what everyone says. I should feel lucky that I have gone through my whole life so far without stumbling over a seventy pound corpse placed intentionally in my way. But up until the dead kid that I didn’t see, I hadn’t realised such a thing was even a possibility. 

Now I live in a world where dead kids make your friends go crazy. A world where they plot and scheme, giggling to each other in high pitched voices choked with fluid as they climb into cupboards and cram themselves under your bed.

“Please don’t...oh god please don’t open it.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It’s a filing cabinet I have to open it.”

“You don’t know what’s in there. There could be anyone! Please!”

“Maybe you should go home early today man.”

I devoted the extra time I had from quitting my job to making my house completely child proof. Carefully, painstakingly, I opened every cabinet and pulled out every drawer, always covering my eyes and feeling the space with the tips of my fingers before deciding it was safe.

I had the carpeting removed, and all the doors except the front. So now I always know the contents of rooms before I enter. I got rid of my blankets, because I could feel their dead flesh pressing into the empty space at my back, rubbing against my skin.

“It’s the middle of winter James, you must be freezing. Are all these precautions really necessary?”

“Have you heard of Schrodinger’s cat Doc?”

“I’m familiar.”

“Well imagine a closed room, or a drawer. You can’t see in it right? What if there’s a dead kid in there?”

“What if there isn’t?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

I don’t leave the house these days. Just approaching the front door makes my chest feel tight. I can’t touch the handle without coating it in sweat. I get the strangest feelings too, like someone is watching me.

I can feel their unseeing eyes peering at me from the shadows...those dark crevices that no amount of lighting seems to correct. I hear their voices mocking me behind corners, and I freeze up, the world lurches. 

My house isn’t safe either, not while there are walls obscuring my sightlines. There are hundreds of them in here with me, waiting for me to find them. 

“They like to knock on things. And push things over when I’m not looking.”

“Uh huh...I understand you’ve stopped sleeping.”

“They like to hide just in front of my eyelids.”

“Sounds like you know a lot about them. Yet you’ve never actually seen them?”

“Not yet. And it’s a good thing too. They’re trying to ruin my life.”

Last night the knocking was clearer than it ever has been. At the front door, accompanied by a squeaky, youthful voice. It knew my name.

They know my name!

“GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

I listened to the knocking for hours, staring at the door, knowing what was behind it. The voice just kept calling out, garbled and nonsensical save for my name, which rang loud and clear. 

At some point it started to storm. The knocks ceased. My phone rang. The dead kids in the hallway laughed and laughed. 

“SHUT IT! SHUT UP!”

Heavy sleet pummeled my windows, rocked the house. The wind screamed at me. Outside, the temperature dropped. 

The dead kids under my fingernails pulsed with glee. The ones in my hair scratched my scalp. 

The one behind the door was silent. 

“James? It’s me. Work ran late last night and I have a few missed calls from Kyle. Did he get in okay last night?”

Fifteen minutes ago I heard my neighbor screaming just outside my house. Now I hear police sirens in the distance. 

They’re going to want to talk to me. They’re going to want me to open my door. But I won’t. I can’t.

There’s a dead kid just outside of it.


	2. When the Circus Comes to Town, Ignore It

The circus just appeared one day, perched in the parking lot behind the mall. Hand painted signs cropped up over night like gaudy weeds, displaying sneering clowns and roaring tigers. 

The Largest Circus on Earth! One Night Only!

Flyers covered the walls at school, were stuffed into every mailbox. I left tire streaks through a pile of them as Gaz and I raced to the beach. Wherever I looked, brightly colored papers merged with the dead leaves swirling through the air, printed with a portrait of a cheerful looking man wearing a goofy top hat. 

“Well Sean, this might be your best shot!” Gaz cackled as our bikes hit sand and we began to slow down. “How’re your cartwheels?”

I kicked some sand up at him, which only made him laugh harder. Gaz was always giggling about something, it was part of the reason we clicked so well. No one else could stand him.

“Come on, imagine covering up that disaster on your head with a rainbow wig. The girls would just die!” he shrieked. 

“Keep laughing,” I told him, “I might just consider it.” To be honest, I really was considering it. I had been planning, half-seriously, on running away from home, and joining a circus didn’t sound half bad. I was sixteen at the time, bored to death by small town living and aching to leave my parents in the dust. Did I have a plan? No. But I was fueled by Home Alone style stories of kids making it in the city with a credit card and common sense. Plus, I could do a pretty good cartwheel.

“Wow, half the school must be out here,” Gaz observed, shaking me from my musings. I followed his gaze to the party happening near the water. He was right; even in the fading light there were a lot of faces I recognized. A few upperclassmen approached us when we got closer, hunched over like cartoon body builders. 

“Are you two supposed to be here?” The bigger one asked.

We glanced at each other. “You don’t know us? That’s Ray Gun,” I gestured towards Gaz, “Club president.”

“And this is Jazz Wipe, vice-club president,” Gaz wheezed. “Lisa invited us.”

That’s the other reason we clicked so well. Ever since we’d met we’d been playing this game, coming up with the dumbest fake names we could think of whenever we met new people. Whoever’s cover got blown first had to buy the other one a soda. Stupid, I know. But it’d gotten me a lot of sodas too. 

The guys let us pass without comment and we merged with the crowd of kids on the beach. I was surprised at how many of them were talking about the circus. Even the bro circle had supplemented their usual discussion about boobs they’d felt with talk of what kind of boobs the tightrope walker would have. You know, for balance purposes. It was very scientific. 

Gaz and I threw around a few more pseudonyms for fun. But most people were too drunk or preoccupied to call either of us out. Each time we saw the guys from earlier we pretended to be looking for “Lisa”, until they passed. I guess they were the designated guards or something. 

At some point I lost Gaz to the horde of swaying teens. In between songs I could hear his stupid, shrieking laughter, which made me feel pretty sorry for whoever he’d made his next victim. Abandoned, I peeled off a little and sat on a piece of driftwood overlooking the water. It was really getting dark now, so much so that I didn’t even notice the two girls that sat beside me until they spoke. 

“What’s your name?” they said in unison, scaring me half to death.

“Uh...Nickel Forward,” I mumbled, looking helplessly between them. I noticed immediately that they were twins. Long strands of black hair framed identical, pale faces. Too pale. Like they were wearing face paint. My eyes fixated on the frilly tutus around their waists, and the striped stockings that clung to their legs. “You guys go to Garfield High?”

“Actually, my sister and I belong to the circus.” said the one on the right.

“We open tomorrow night,” said the one on the left.

“Oh, yeah everyone’s talking about it. We don’t get a lot of excitement around here. Must suck getting stuck with promotion right?”

They looked at me strangely. Leftie spoke first, “No we wanted to come out here! We thought a party looked like fun! It’s been so long since we’ve hung out with kids our age…”

Her sister shot her a look and she shut up. Rightie finished, “She means that we’ve just been so busy. It’s hard to get out much, you know? But you really should come uh...uh...what did you say your name was?”

“Um…” I’d forgotten my alias. Classic. But just before I gave myself away I felt a hand touch down on my shoulder. 

“This right here is the great Forest Woods, no relation to Tiger,” Gaz giggled. “Sorry you ladies had to deal with him. He’s real broody isn’t he?” He plopped down between Leftie and me, nearly knocking her off the seat. 

Rightie frowned, silent accusations hardening her features. “No, I thought it was something else…” Her gaze burned into me. Her eyes seemed bigger than before. A foreign shame entered my bloodstream, like when your mom catches you doing something wrong. For a second that’s exactly how I felt, like a little kid. Caught in a lie. I almost told her my real name, but her sister beat me to the punch. 

“Anyway, it was really nice meeting you two. Hopefully we’ll see you at the circus tomorrow!” 

I watched them walk back up the beach, towards the main road. Gaz whistled a bit, then broke out in a fit of laughter. Usually the sound was mildly annoying, but the party was starting to thin. And the bonfire was being put out. And my friend’s wild, high pitched wails were more unnerving than anything else. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

If you had told me the next Olympics were going to feature competitive shark wrestling, that would have been more believable than what my parents said at breakfast the next morning.

“Have you seen the circus up by the mall Darryl?” my mom chirped.

“Yeah. Me and the boys were talking about it at work yesterday. I was thinking we could go see what it’s about. As a family, you know? Admission is free.”

That’s how they were. Even though I was sitting right there, slurping up cereal, they talked like I wasn’t even in the room. I cleared my throat loudly. Twice.

“You alright Sean? I hope you’re not getting sick.” 

“I’m fine Mom. And since when are you and Dad into circuses?” My real question was, since when are you and Dad into anything? 

They shrugged. “Looks like fun. Plus, a couple lovely girls stopped by the other night to give us flyers. They said it’d be very educational,” my mom said. 

I tried not to choke on cereal. I tried to tell myself that they’d probably just gone door to door. It wasn’t like they’d sought out my house specifically. It wasn’t even possible. Still, I couldn’t shake the dread that crept into my fingertips and made the spoon too heavy to lift. “Did you tell them anything?”

My dad scoffed. “They’re not cops Sean. We just said that we’d love to come see their show. Your mother even gave them one of her famous cupcakes.”

“But-”

“No buts. We’re going to have a nice family evening and you’re not getting out of it.”

The light in the kitchen seemed to die out. As if on cue, a stray flyer fluttered past the window. I watched it with a frown. At that point I made up my mind that I was going to run away, for real. And if I had to go to this thing, maybe I really could take advantage of it. Even if they were just looking for someone to clean out the elephant pen. I turned back to my parents. “Can I bring Gaz?”

They groaned loudly, which I took to mean yes. 

Through hours of hostage-crisis-level negotiation, it was agreed that Gaz and I would ride our bikes to the circus and meet my parents in the stands. Actually, his parents were going too, but they were more than happy to dump their son with us. Sometimes I felt kind of bad for him, to be honest, but he didn’t seem to mind.

On our way there I told him about the two girls and got a similar story back from him. I was relieved; they’d gone door to door after all. I also told him my plan to skip town, which admittedly wasn’t much of a plan. Really I was just going to ask the ringmaster for a job after the show and hope for the best. Like I said, I was running on movie magic. Gaz told me my plan was stupid and then immediately offered to help. His job was to distract my parents. 

He was a good friend.

When we arrived the parking lot was swarming with people. The entire town must have been there. Dead leaves and flyers choked the air. The smell of cotton candy and popcorn replaced any oxygen, making me dizzy. Above us the bigtop loomed, red and white stripes tapering into a sharp point at the top, with dozens of cheap carnival games scattered around it. A few dirty looking clowns patrolled the games, handling fluffy toys with big, gloved hands. I tried to picture myself as one of them and felt sick. But still, I was determined. 

Gaz and I parked our bikes and walked up to the ticket master. “Names,” he said. 

“Midsummer Shyamalan,” Gaz giggled, “and this is my buddy-” but before he could invent a name for me I interrupted him. 

“Josh Grant,” I blurted out. I still don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I played it safe. I just know that something deep inside me told me that I needed to be convincing.

The ticket master nodded at me, wrote the name on a shiny ticket, and passed it through the window. Then he narrowed his eyes at my friend. “Your real name.”

Gaz glared at me, then said, very slowly, “Garrison Fields.”

We had this rule, see, that if your cover got blown you had to give up your real name. It was supposed to be a punishment, like giving away a piece of yourself. I think about this rule a lot. I think about this moment a lot. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that right,” Gaz punched me in the arm as we walked into the tent. “That doesn’t count. You have to earn your soda.”

I just nodded, trying to shake away the fog of carnival confections . We met up with my parents, and the show quickly began. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the largest circus on earth! Our members are very pleased see your faces, but be advised...there will be audience participation!”

A troupe of clowns danced into the ring, breaking out into cruel laughter and honking their tiny horns. I guessed the gag was that they were prisoners or slaves or something, because of the comically large shackles attached to their legs. Whenever the ringmaster approached them they all made a big show of screaming and cowering behind each other. At one point the ringmaster pulled out a whip and pretended to hit them with it. 

I flinched at the sounds of it snapping in the air, but the audience was eating it up. Even my parents were howling with laughter, slapping their thighs as they watched. I forced a chuckle from my lips, suddenly very self conscious. Finally, the clowns retreated and were replaced by ballet dancers. I recognized the twins among them, leading the rest of the performers. Only...not everyone was in costume. In fact, most of the dancers were dressed like suburbanites, or wearing business clothes. 

Ages ranged from ancient to elementary schoolers, all moving together. One older woman tripped and landed face first on the floor, where she was trampled by her teammates. Gaz was doubled over in hysterics beside me. I felt sick. I kept waiting for her to get up, she looked so frail, white and withered. One of the twins looked back at her and she finally picked herself up. She rejoined the dance, and I tried to laugh at the way her legs bent awkwardly backwards. 

By the halfway point, I was rethinking my plans. Short-skirted vendors prowled the stands, offering sugary snacks. 

“And what’s your name cutie?” 

“J-Josh Grant.” A tub of cotton candy was shoved into my lap. I placed a clump of it in my mouth and almost gagged. It was stale, sour. But when I turned to complain the vendors had already moved on. I looked around. My parents were sharing a large tub of popcorn. Except, they weren’t really eating it. No one was really eating. Hands dug into containers and brought the contents to laughing lips, only to have them fall right out of the mouth and onto the floor. I watched Gaz grind cotton candy into his teeth, unable to stop giggling long enough to chew. 

My head was light. I looked back at my own container and gasped. The pink treat was gone, replaced by a thin layer of black mud and a pile of dead leaves. I touched my fingers to my lips and they came away black. Now I really did gag.

“Dude, something’s wrong,” I shook Gaz by his shoulders. “I think we should ditch.”

But he just kept laughing. Not even looking at me. 

“Gaz come on! I’m being serious!”

Below us, a dozen or so men were eating fire. Or trying to, anyway. 

“GAZ!” I shoved him. Hard. His skull made a sharp thud on the wooden bench, but he just kept cackling like an idiot. Tears rolled down his face. His cheeks were red. White fingers clutched at his side. But he kept going. Glued to the action. 

My parents were in the same state. Everyone was. I wanted to stand up and scream, what’s so funny!? But a cold fist formed in my stomach and kept me still. Kept me quiet. 

The show continued.

I have to be honest. It really was the largest circus on earth. Thousands of people dragged themselves through various stunts and tricks, but it was as if they hadn’t been trained on any of it. There were no costumes. No one was smiling. The magician wept as he cut a woman in half, no box or anything. “I’m sorry” he kept mouthing. I’m sorry. And the smell of blood joined the tango of sugar and butter. 

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t watch. But a pair of clowns was guarding every exit. For some reason I felt like I was being monitored. Trying to stop the wetness in my eyes, I dunked a fist into my tub of dead leaves and flung them at my mouth, allowing them to stick to my chin. I laughed at the horror in front of me, until my cheeks hurt. Rocked back and forth in my seat. Tried to stop looking around. 

The smell of urine wafted up and I noticed that the man in the seat below mine had pissed himself, not that he seemed to mind. Finally, after hours, the ringmaster made an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen...it’s time for audience participation!” he held a box of shiny tickets, “When I call your ticket, come on down!”

The room went silent. I don’t mean people stopped laughing, because they didn’t. But it was like their voices simply went quiet. 

“Holden Deer...Felicity Chambers...Gabbie Days…”

I watched people suddenly jerk onto their feet, staggering towards the center stage with shaky, lurching steps. A parade of toddlers. Or puppets.

“David Brown...Darryll Connors...Linda Connors…”

My parents stood up. I couldn’t help myself. I threw my body at them, holding onto their legs like a little kid, begging them not to go. A few clowns looked in our direction, but I ignored them. “Mom...Dad please...please don’t you get it? Something’s wrong with these people! We have to go home now!”

But they kicked me off with a superhuman strength. I flew back into Gaz, whose face was still contorted into silent laughter. 

“Garrison Fields…”

“No...no please...you can’t!” I screamed in his ear. For the smallest fraction of a second, I swear he looked at me. I’ll never forget the pain in his eyes. The fear. 

And then he stumbled down towards the ring. 

Everyone did. 

“Josh Grant…”

I stood up. For a moment the world worked in slow motion. I watched my family march through the ring. A girl...one of the twins...handed my dad a clown nose. Another one was showing my mother how to dance. Lazily, very stupidly, I noticed several pairs of twins doing the same to the rest of the crowd. Several pairs of the same twins. 

One handed Gaz a flaming baton. 

The ringmaster smiled up at me, then frowned as I stood motionless. His eyes seemed too big. His features too sharp. 

“That’s not my name!” I screeched at the top of my lungs. Then I ducked my head and ran. Ran through the stands. Through the red and white curtains that felt coarse and dry against my skin. Out into the parking lot, where I pounced on my bike and hurtled down the main road, screaming and crying and trying to remember how to breathe. 

I waited for my parents the rest of the night, uselessly of course. I waited to hear the sounds of cars starting up. I waited to hear familiar voices. All uselessly. Stacks of flyers were blown against my windows, face up. 

One night only!

I screamed to break the silence.

Largest circus on earth!

The next morning I pedaled back to the mall, not knowing what I was expecting. The place was deserted. No tent, no games, no ticket booth. Just rows upon rows of parked cars and overturned bicycles. A thin layer of dead leaves blanketed the ground where the bigtop had been. 

I stood there for a long time, unable to comprehend the bitter irony of it all. I had planned to join the circus, but everyone else had instead. The realization slackened my knees. A wild, hysterical giggle burst from my lips. 

“No…” I mumbled between peels of laughter. “No no no…” I sank to the ground, shaking. “This isn’t happening…”

I don’t know how long I stayed there, staring at the spot where everyone in my town had been taken. I don’t know how long I waited for some sign of life. And I don’t know when the laughter turned into sobs.


	3. My Husband Ordered A New Daughter

Maddie arrived at our door eight years ago with a shiny red bow around her throat and an instruction manual at the bottom of the box. 

Feed it six times a day.

Keep it clean.

No refunds.

The box had no return address. The mailmen refused to take it back. I tried to throw it into the garbage, into the fireplace, into the lake behind the middle school. It always turned up again anyway, on the doorstep in the middle of the night, covered in grime or soot or water as if someone had just fished it out from wherever I had tried to banish it. 

Her.

I should say her.

My husband played dumb for two weeks before I found out about the money. Six thousand dollars paid online, the money we were going to use for the funeral. 

No refunds. 

I threatened to leave him. He pleaded with me to open the box. Just look at her, he said, and you won’t be mad anymore. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t deal with one more sick joke. Just open it. 

Please just open it.

I couldn’t open it because my daughter might have been inside. That’s what I told myself and my husband, at least. But maybe I was afraid of her not being inside, and what that would have done to me. 

Please open the box. We’ll do it together.

No assembly required.

No refunds. 

I guess he felt guilty. You know?

And I guess he was right. I did blame him for introducing that stupid game to her. They called it Flying Squirrel. She wore a blanket as a cape, clenching each end in tiny fists, screaming those two words as her only warning before leaping into the air.

It was supposed to only be played in the bedroom. He was supposed to tell her that. I told her that. I told both of them. 

I guess I’ll always blame my husband. 

“Don’t play by the stairs”

Not for killing her. 

“Never play on the stairs.”

But for not catching her. 

We opened the box after the third week. The most unnerving part was that it didn’t have any air holes, yet there she was, staring out with her limbs folded beneath her. Red bow and instructions in top condition.

“Mommy?”

It had her voice. Of course it did. And her eyes and her hair and every birthmark. It was Maddie. My Maddie. 

My flying squirrel.

Keep away from small children and pets.

Administer shots twice a month. 

My husband still won’t tell me where he ordered her from, but it doesn’t really matter. Our extended family compliments us constantly for taking the loss so well. I want to laugh in their faces and puke all at the same time. My husband just smiles, and accepts their condolences.

The shots came with the package, a seemingly endless supply. Just once, about a year in, I tried to see what would happen if I didn’t give them to her. They didn’t have labels or anything, just blue syrup in glass tubes. We’d assumed they were vitamins of some kind. 

“Mommy!” The first change was the voice. It became noticeably deeper, flatter, almost mechanical. Then her pretty blonde hair started to turn grey. Her features almost seemed to...move? Morph? 

I don’t know how to phrase it exactly, but it was almost like she was losing everything that made her Maddie and becoming a blurred imitation. A bad photocopy. Like one of those CGI video games where the characters are human, but not quite. 

We never miss shot days anymore. 

Wash with cold water only.

Store in cool temperatures.

The hardest thing to adapt to was the fact that Maddie doesn’t breathe, and her skin is always freezing. When she first came to us I wanted her to sleep in our bed, so I could feel her close to me and hold her head against my chest.

But Maddie doesn’t sleep either. 

So that first night I lay there, shivering at her touch, feeling her eyes boring into my closed ones, the silence reminding me of what should have been there. Tears began to leak down my face and I felt her shuffle even closer, suddenly energized. Soft, icy lips pressed against my cheeks, chilling me to my core. I fought the urge to open my eyes, stifled a gasp. Her tongue slowly pushed out, swiping up my tear and retracting. The lips withdrew, came back down by my nose.

She made no noise. My shoulders shook so hard they ached. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I heard my husband’s soft snores, completely at peace. Finally I turned away from them both, breathing hard in the darkness. The room was almost silent. Her chest rested against my back, unmoving, like her ribcage was just an empty void, stuffed with straw. Maddie slept in her own room after that.

Expose to minimal sunlight.

Water daily.

Maddie doesn’t eat like we eat. We tried to force cereal down her throat when she was brand new, but she always bit the spoon in two. We found a collection of rodents and one stray cat under her bed, inside out with chunks missing.

So now we buy a lot more meat than we used to, and we never even have to cook it. 

She also doesn’t move right sometimes. Sometimes I’ll catch her counting her fingers and toes like it’s the first time she’s seen them before, or walking with her shoulders pushed so far back that you can’t even see them head-on, like they’re...behind her. My husband says I’m being ungrateful, so I don’t push it. 

But at night I lock our door anyway. And hers. 

No refunds.

A little boy has gone missing in our neighborhood. 

I’m scared to check under Maddie’s bed.

Highly fragile! Do not let fall or drop.

Keep away from stairs!

Sometimes I see her standing by the banister, looking down at the first floor. She’s too big to play Flying Squirrel now. But maybe I’ll ask her if she wants to, just once...

For old time’s sake.


End file.
